


"We've Always Been Together, Haven't We?"

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, M/M, Unspoken Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve always been together, haven’t they? So why did it take them so long to actually get together? The long love story of Nino and Aiba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"We've Always Been Together, Haven't We?"

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Arashi. I do not know them and am in no way affiliated with them. The events described in this work are loosely inspired by certain events related to Arashi, but the facts and timeline and all character emotions have been significantly altered to fit my delusions and are therefore not representative of the opinions and characters of Arashi or JE in any way.
> 
> Previously posted on LJ.
> 
> For those who love Aimiya :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
August, 1996.  
  
So many giggles and snorts and accidental brushes of the hand. The antics, the smacks and the pairs of eyes meeting across roomfuls of Juniors in baggy shirts and oversized Nikes (they were the only two who wore the unfashionable Reeboks). Somehow, through all that, they had found each other. And when they did, heated and thumping though their hearts were inside, they had both managed to play it with surprising aloofness, just like idols-in-training they were supposed to be.   
  
“’Sup?” Aiba had tilted his chin up just a little, eyes flicking over Nino’s scrawny frame with a forced detachment that could only be due to supreme nervousness.  
  
“Nice kicks.” Nino had smirked, and pulled up a trouser to reveal the same Reebok logo on the battered tongue of his sneakers.   
  
The hyena-like trail of giggles that followed sounded almost unreal to Nino’s ears. Because really, how would anyone guess that such a thin, scraggly and utterly  _unattractive_  noise could come out of a boy with such soulful eyes?   
  
“I had to beg my mother to buy them for me.” The defensive coolness had evaporated completely, and a reluctant shyness crept into Aiba’s voice. “All the kids at my school wear them, but I guess Johnny’s boys are a bit farther ahead of the curve, huh…”  
  
Nino just snatched the old basketball Aiba had inexplicably brought to the studio that day, his eyes shining with equal parts invitation and challenge.   
  
“You live in Chiba, don’t you?” He hid the ball behind his back and grinned at Aiba’s gaping mouth. “I’ll give your ball back if you let me go home with you after this.”  
  
Aiba flushed and fidgeted on his lanky legs like a duck on land. But Nino took a step closer and got right up in his face, as if they were in one of those manzai skits their senpais sometimes did on TV. They could see each other so clearly now, down to every facial mole that quivered with each breath they took.   
  
And then Aiba nodded, silently sealing their deal.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
_“Aiba-kun is so dorky-”_  
  
_“But sweet, too!”_  
  
_“I didn’t think he even knew my name…”_  
  
_“I heard he stayed up all night in his family’s restaurant baking these-”_  
  
_“I bet Aiba-kun’s a good kisser.”_  
  
_“I bet so, too.”_  
  
_“I bet so, three.”_  
  
_“You think we should ask him? It’s White Day, after all…”_  
  
_“Gosh, keep your voice down! What if someone hears us?...”_  
  
Nino glared at the group of girls giggling in the studio cafeteria, each one clasping a clumsily decorated sugar cookie as if it was the most precious thing in the world.   
  
It was just so typical of Aiba to take these holidays so seriously. Nino had simply brushed his gift-giving obligations off by swiping a few extra lollipops from his dentist’s waiting room and sending them to each girl who had bothered to get him a gift a month before. But of course, Aiba Masaki had to be more  _sincere_.   
  
The door to the men’s restroom opened and Aiba bounced out to rejoin him at their usual lunch table.   
  
“Those girls were talking about you, Aiba.”  
  
“Eh?” The older boy stole a piece of tempura from Nino’s tray and popped it into his mouth cheerily. Nino rolled his eyes. Also typical of Aiba to miss what others were saying because he was too busy stuffing his face. And chewing loudly. Aiba always chewed extremely loudly. It drove Nino nuts. But in a good way, because it meant that their conversations would take longer, and Nino always embraced  _any_  reason to prolong a conversation with Aiba.   
  
“The girls you spent all night baking cookies for? Jeez, no wonder you’ve been acting like a zombie all day… You really need to get your priorities straight, Aiba.”   
  
Aiba just wrinkled his nose petulantly and grabbed the last piece of tempura from Nino’s lunch.   
  
“It’s only ’cause I like feeling loved,” he whined. “And I haven’t been feeling any from Nino-chan lately…”  
  
Nino felt a twinge of guilt as he recalled all the forlorn texts he’d received during his movie-filming in Izu over the past week:   
  
_“Nino, I have to sit all alone again.”_  
_“Scary Ojiisan’s staring at me, Nino.”_  
_“Haha I accidentally got off midway cuz I thought we were going to ramen… but then I realized Nino’s not with me.”_  
_“The ramen lady asked where you were. She called you Kurikuri Bouzu-kun.”  
"That's actually a pretty cute nickname. I should start calling you that."_  
_“I wish you didn’t have to be Kurikuri Bouzu, though.”_  
_“I wish you didn’t have to be in Izu.”_  
  
The messages were always signed with a smiley face, but for some reason, Nino had found it hard to picture a smiling Aiba typing them as he read through them. With another twinge of guilt, he glanced across the table at Aiba, who was still munching happily on the crispy tempura skin, and pushed the rest of his tray towards him.  
  
“Here, idiot," sighed Nino. "Have the rest.”  
  
He regretted saying it almost immediately, though, because Aiba suddenly let out a messy “thank you!” and wrapped his arms around him, and Nino ended up spending the rest of their lunch hour trying to get half-chewed bits of soggy tempura out of his collar.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
If Nino ever got round to writing a memoir or something, he’d probably have a whole chapter dedicated to his Jr years, or, as he thought of them, the “ramen years.” Because he was pretty sure that at least a third of his diet during that time was ramen. Specifically, Maeda-baasan’s Ramen, right by the Kinshichou station, where the yellow trains of the Sobu Line would pass by, and where he would usually have to part ways with Aiba after their tiring sessions at the jimusho.  
  
He never thought that eating ramen could ever be an exciting occurrence, but that was before he met Aiba.   
  
Come to think of it, if he  _were_  to ever write a memoir, it’d probably have to be divided into two parts: Pre-Aiba, and Post-Aiba, with Post-Aiba taking up the bulk of the volume.   
  
They were both only fourteen at the time, but Aiba’s penchant for wacky experiments had already been obvious. Nino remembered sitting down to slurp at his noodles, only to find himself face to face with a plastic straw and a smug Aiba.   
  
“Don’t you want to see if you can suck a whole strand of ramen up with just this straw?”   
  
Nino looked incredulous. “Did you throw away my chopsticks?” he asked accusingly, looking around for the chopsticks can. “Seriously,  _Aiba_!”  
  
Aiba smirked victoriously and poked him with the straw. “Looks like you either have to use this, or use your hands!”  
  
“You and your antics…” Nino muttered, but took the straw nevertheless. “It’s steaming hot,” he complained. “I’ll burn my tongue.”  
  
The smug look disappeared, and a concerned look replaced it.  
  
“Would you like me to blow on it for you?” asked Aiba. The velvet eyes flickered from Nino’s face to the bowl in front of him, and Nino couldn’t help but smile at the solemnness in them.   
  
_He trips over his pantaloons and would have burned the hair off his own head if Takki-kun hadn’t been there to show him how to use a hot-iron curler properly today, but when it comes to sucking noodles through a straw, he’ll suddenly turn into the most meticulous person on earth._  Nino shook his head, amused, but allowed his partner to gingerly slide the bowl over.  
  
“Here…” Aiba blew gently over the surface of the creamy tonkotsu broth, as if it were a ticklish baby’s bottom rather than a thick mass of melted pig-fat.   
  
Nino wondered if he could get Aiba to blow on the currently sweaty back of his neck like that. He imagined it would feel the same as the breeze from a fan, only warmer, and with more moisture.   
  
Nino watched the concentrated profile of Aiba’s face, and wondered if Aiba ever concentrated on him like that.   
  
Nino saw Aiba's puckered lips brush gently against the soup, and suddenly wished that he were a bowl of tonkotsu ramen.  
  
“It’s cool now,” Aiba pronounced victoriously, after sucking a bit of broth up into his mouth. Nino giggled, because he could see the end of a noodle protruding out the straw, and it looked ridiculous, wagging and flicking little droplets of oil over the counter.   
  
“Well, I guess the results of the experiment are already obvious,” laughed Nino. “Now give me my chopsticks.”  
  
Wordlessly, Aiba turned towards him, and spewed the noodle into his face.   
  
“GROSS!” Nino picked the slimy ramen off his nose and flicked it back to Aiba, who just stuffed it in his mouth and grinned back smugly.   
  
“Can’t believe you didn’t see that coming,  _baka_.”  
  
Nino felt like strangling him. In an affectionate way.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Was Aiba a good kisser?   
  
Nino didn’t know when he had started giving that question serious thought, but it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t look at his symmetry partner without thinking about whether those plump lips had been claimed yet, whether their redness was natural or a result of ardent bruising…   
  
He hadn’t ever kissed another person in his life (mothers didn’t count), but Ohno Satoshi had. Ohno Satoshi was seventeen and cool and had speaking roles in two shows every day over in Kyoto, so he had  _definitely_ kissed people before. Though Ohno had also been complaining that Kyoto girls kissed with less tongue than Tokyo girls, and that no matter where he went, no girl would ever agree to ‘ _under the shirt’_  unless you had the money for a hostess bar. Nino scrolled through his text messages with Ohno, and wondered if the older boy knew anything about how far the girls in Chiba went.   
  
_Probably not._  He sighed, and glanced over to where Aiba was sitting quietly and reading his manga, his thick lips mumbling the words into the page, because that was just the way Aiba read things; he always had to voice the syllables out loud. It was as if the sentences couldn’t become real in his mind if they weren’t physically breathed into the air first.  
  
Nino wondered if Aiba would be annoyed if he pressed his lips against him now. And he wondered if that would make him Aiba’s first kiss.   
  
As if he had some sixth sense that could feel Nino’s gaze on him, Aiba looked up, and suddenly, their eyes met again. Aiba flushed red and quickly buried his face back in his manga, and only a second later did Nino realize that he had been unconsciously licking his lips at the other boy. Hungrily. As if he wanted to devour him on the spot.   
  
That might have been the most mortifying moment of Nino’s life.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Nino remembered the time Aiba learned about photosynthesis in school.   
  
He had been dragged by the hand to the changing room upstairs, where his idiot friend had made him join in on huffing air to the straggly leaves of a potted geranium on his locker.   
  
“We should do this every day,” said Aiba when they finished (or rather, when Nino decided that he had wasted enough time blowing at a  _plant_ ).   
  
“I doubt it’ll make a difference,” Nino snorted, but agreed to it anyway.   
  
Because it was the first time they’d held hands, and who knew? Maybe Aiba would reach for him again, if he acted reluctant enough.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Inseparable.  
  
Nino and Aiba had become inseparable. So much so that Johnny-san himself had designated them to be a regular duo act, with their own duets and dance routines and even a CM contract to their name. Aiba was openly delighted. So was Nino, though he didn’t it show it as much because he was usually too busy pretending to absorbed in a video game to cover up the fact that he couldn’t keep a pervy smile off his face whenever his new  _partner_  was around.   
  
It was like Aiba bathed himself in some bewitching pheromones every night or something, because Nino was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Whenever he saw him, he’d want to smack him, to touch him (and above all to caress him, but he never dared, at least not in his first few years). The urge to tease him, to flatter him, to give him cutesy nicknames and watch his face bubble and turn red… that was always a surging force he inspired in poor Nino’s chest, too.   
  
At first, Nino had been terrified of his own feelings. Memories had cropped up; dark, thrashing memories of his head being pressed into school toilets and rough fingers squeezing and twisting at the fabric of his crotch. “Are you sure you’re not a girl?” Sneering voices would say. “You sure look like a girl. Maybe we ought to make sure-”  
  
_STOP!!_  Nino blinked hard and shook himself back to the present, where all the boys around him were happily half-naked and playing with each other’s hair and make-up like it was the most natural thing in the world. Just two rooms and one curtain away were the fans, chattering and shrieking and already waving their unfurled banners and uchiwas. Nino could see them on the closed circuit video monitor they had set up backstage. It was a bit intimidating to think that they would be performing for such a huge crowd, especially since he had seen his own face pop up quite frequently in the stands.   
  
_They’ll be looking for me. They’ll be watching my every move. My fans. Yes, I have fans._  
  
Naturally, he didn’t have as many as Takki-kun, or even Aiba. But he still had a lot, enough to get his own uchiwa line made, at least. It made him feel somewhat validated, knowing that people were actually willing to pay the same amount of money for his face as they would be for Aiba’s or Takki’s. Like even the fans were throwing their support behind the plain little  _bouzu_ -Nino being the regular partner of the well-beloved “Super Idol Aiba-chan.”   
  
“Hey Nino, smile for the camera!” That goofy kid Toma was waving at him, sticking a handheld camcorder uncomfortably close to Nino’s half-powdered face. “This is going to be on the DVD, so say a few words, will you?”  
  
“Well,” replied Nino, putting on his camera face with an exaggerated air of suffering. “I just want all our beloved supporters to know that we’ve been rehearsing since 6 am.” He thrust his wristwatch in front of the camera. “It’s now 4 pm,” he sighed. “And the only lunch I had was the leftover harumaki from Aiba-kun’s bento. Ah, Aiba-kun’s such a kind friend, isn’t he?”  
  
“He sure is,” agreed Toma, and Nino could see from the boy’s oversized grin that he was probably giving him the most interesting interview of the day. “Oh wait, hey, Aiba-kun! Over here! Come say a few words for the DVD!”  
  
Immediately, the air around them seemed to take on a golden hue as the 14 year old Aiba Masaki plopped himself onto Nino’s lap.   
  
“Hello everyone!” He waved his cheery, hyper Aiba-wave and smiled first at Nino, then at the camera. “I’m Aiba Masaki! I sing and dance with this guy here!” He pointed at Nino enthusiastically. “We’re super best friends; we even wear each other’s underwear sometimes!”  
  
“Un-under-wear-?” Toma was giggling so much that he could barely hold the camera steady. “How disgusting!”  
  
“Haha!” Aiba gave a high-pitched laugh, and Nino blinked in surprise as he found himself suddenly nose to nose with his dance partner. “I just can’t help but feel excited when I see the bright colors of Nino-chan’s underwear, ne, Nino?”   
  
“Right. We’re just that friendly.” Nino chuckled, going along with the joke, and looking into Aiba’s disturbingly close eyes.   
  
Then, in a rather funny twist of fate, a rough set of hands pushed his back, careening his whole torso forward and sending his lips straight to where Aiba’s wide-open, laughing mouth was waiting for him.  
  
Time stopped for what seemed like an eternity, and in his shocked state, all Nino could feel was the warmth of Aiba’s breath, the scent of bath salts lingering somewhere behind his ear, and a rather hot slimy thing that he only belatedly realized was Aiba’s  _tongue_  before a naughty (and suspiciously nasal) peal of giggles broke out behind him, and he was finally hit with the full impact of what had just happened.   
  
Nino had just had his first kiss.   
  
His  _first kiss_.   
  
And it had been with Aiba. And with tongue.   
  
_Tongue_.   
  
“All right! That’s a wrap!” Toma’s delighted voice was accompanied by the sound of a camcorder being snapped shut and a giggly high five shared with a bucktoothed boy around Nino’s age.   
  
“We’re gonna get you back for this!” Nino turned his scarlet cheeks away to growl at the completely unabashed duo. “There’s no way  _that’s_  going on the DVD!”   
  
Toma and his friend (who, despite later becoming one of their closest friends and bandmates, would always be remembered by both Nino and Aiba as the benefactor of their first kiss) simply stuck out their tongues and darted away with the precious camcorder cradled like a baby between them.   
  
That particular clip did  _not_  make it onto the DVD in the end, much to Nino’s relief and Toma’s disappointment.   
  
Though years later, and under the influence of some  _very_  heavy alcohol, a certain Matsumoto Jun did confess to having an unauthorized copy of it hidden somewhere in a shoebox under his bed.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aiba liked milk tea. He seemed to like it even more with Nino, though, because Nino brought mangas. And Aiba liked mangas.   
  
They were sitting at their own table, and it was moments like these when Nino really thought that they could rival those Christmas Eve couples at Tokyo Disney Sea in terms of gross, groping, intimacy. Because it was moments like these when Aiba’s personality seemed to devolve by about five years, turning him into the world’s whiniest, clingiest and most demanding little pest  _ever_.   
  
“Lend me the Slam Dunk that you were reading last week!  _Please_?”  
  
“I’m still reading it,” Nino lied without so much as a tick in his brow. He fully intended to loan it out eventually, of course, but it was just fun to see how far Aiba was willing to prostrate himself for that favor.   
  
“Liar,” pouted older boy, with more coyness than accusation. “I saw you take your bookmark out when you put it away yesterday.”   
  
Nino looked shrewdly at his friend. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Aiba actually looked _happy_  at catching his lie.   
  
“Well, I want to re-read it,” he said shortly.   
  
At that, Aiba’s pout curved into an unmistakable grin.   
  
“Great! Then we can read it together!” Without warning, sticky, cream-covered fingers dove into Nino’s unguarded bag, and the coveted volume of their favorite sports manga was splayed out in the narrow space between them in no time.   
  
“Careful!” growled Nino, as drops of condensation leaked from their ice-cold tumblers into the paper. “I paid 350 yen for this!”  
  
“Which is 50 yen less than what you’re making me cough up for this milk tea,” retorted Aiba, but he carefully moved their drinks away as Nino demanded, before flipping to the first page with an excited giggle.   
  
Nino rolled his eyes and slurped another tapioca pearl up his straw. It wasn’t his fault that milk tea simply tasted better when Aiba was the one paying for it.   
  
“What are you smirking about?” Aiba cuffed the back of his neck with those still-sticky fingers, clanking their heads together so that they were both squeezed over the tiny little book, temple to temple. “Read with me!”  
  
“You’re so demand-ing,” complained Nino, though he couldn’t quite finish his sentence because Aiba—handsome, clueless, Aiba—was suddenly so close to him, and it made his insides throttle forward in a heart-stopping lurch. He didn’t know  _how_ , but some strange force of nature was building up in his throat with surprising momentum, and the next thing he knew, his mouth was gaping open and creamy dribbles of bubble tea were leaking down his chin in the most unflattering manner possible.   
  
“Ah, careful!” Aiba cried out in alarm, and instinctively (though Nino had no idea why this should be the first instinct of  _anyone_ ) turned Nino’s face away from the manga and towards his own, where he stopped the offending leakage of tea by pressing his own lips against Nino’s half-open, milk-tea-filled mouth.  
  
The creamy liquid swirled from Nino’s tongue to Aiba’s, and what had been ice-cold in the glass became red-hot as the heat from both their mouths melted together to warm it up, softly and richly… until all Nino was aware of was the warm gush of fluid on their chins, and the squelch of Aiba’s lips sucking on his own like an overly enthusiastic leech.   
  
With a petrified squeak, he turned his head away, eyes shut and cheeks flaming.   
  
“What was the hell was that for?!” he hissed, for some reason still unable to open his eyes.   
  
He heard the sound of tissue being pulled from its packet, and felt a surprisingly tender touch dab at the corners of his mouth and sweep around the point of his chin.   
  
“I spent 400 yen on that milk tea, after all,” Aiba’s voice was saying.  
  
Nino didn’t need to open his eyes to see the grin on his idiot friend’s face.   
  
“Wouldn’t want any of it to be wasted, you know…” Aiba chortled and leaned back.  
  
One Nino eyelid lifted just a sliver so he could peek out at the teasingly twisted lips that had just been mashing against his own and still bore traces of milk tea as lingering evidence.   
  
“You look gross,” he retorted.   
  
Completely unoffended, Aiba licked himself clean and tilted his head in a cheeky fail of a wink.   
  
“Now you can tell the next issue of  _Wink Up_  you’ve officially experienced your second kiss, too,” he said. “Man, tell me that wasn’t the best 400 yen I ever spent, tell me, go on!”   
  
Nino had to try very hard not to look like he was enjoying the way Aiba’s stick-like elbows jutted out as he folded both arms behind his head in smug satisfaction. And it took even  _more_  will power to restrain himself from pushing up that T-shirt sleeve and rubbing his cheek against the copper-colored birthmark peeking out from underneath.   
  
“ _Wink Up_  my ass…” he muttered breathlessly, though he couldn’t say if it was more out of annoyance or pleasure.  
  
Aiba grinned kittenishly, leaned his chair a little too far back, fell off balance, and ended up spilling the remainder of their milk tea all over himself.  
  
Sometimes, Nino really found it hard to believe that there were people across the nation who actually  _looked up_  to this guy.   
  
But all the same, when he went home that night, he ripped out the day’s page from the calendar book on his desk and picked up a pen.   
  
_Kiss number 2 for Masaki and Kazunari_ , he wrote, and then leaned back to admire his own handwriting.   
  
One pudgy hand came up to cover the giggles that were already gushing up his throat.   
  
_< 3_, added the other.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
“Stop it, Toma!” Aiba’s velvet voice was stretched thin in distress. “That’s not even mine! If you tear it…”  
  
The little devil Ikuta gave a smug wink and tucked something under his pillow, curling his body around it like a dragon hoarding gold.   
  
“Oh, whose is it? MatsuJun’s?” Toma laughed wickedly. “Boy, I’d better run out and buy myself some popcorn, then. This is gonna be better than UFC!”   
  
“It’s  _not_ MatsuJun’s,” Aiba breathed fiercely, tackling the younger boy with very effective tickles to the waist.   
  
“Ahehehehe!” Toma thrashed around their shared bunk, wheezing in wild laughter. “Whose- oheehee!—whose—aheehee!—is it then?”  
  
“None of your business! Just give it here!” Aiba tried to get a new hold of Toma’s arms, but the little mischief was way too agile for him.   
  
“Tell me, and I’ll give it back,” he grinned, coyly hiding it behind his back.  
  
For some reason, Aiba shot a rather embarrassed glance in Nino’s direction before hardening his jaw and tackling Toma with renewed vigor.   
  
“Is it Sho-kun’s? Ahahaha! Oh I bet he’d be even scarier than an angry MatsuJun! Hey, Sho-kun!”  
  
“Shut up! It’s  _not_ Sho-kun’s! And I’m  _not_  scared of MatsuJun!”  
  
“It’s gotta be Tsubasa’s then! And you totally are.  Ahahaha! You’re scared of Sho-kun, too. ”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
“Are too! You’re always—hic—hiding behind Takki-kun whenever he enters in the room.”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
“You  _so_  are! You never meet his eyes. Or Jun’s. It’s like you—hic—fancy them or something.”  
  
Despite his giggle-induced hiccups, Toma’s eyes glittered victoriously as a panicked look entered Aiba’s eyes. Aiba darted another furtive glance in Nino’s direction, almost as though pleading with him to understand something, before hardening his voice to a _very_  scary register.  
  
“Give me the book, Toma,” he growled.     
  
“All right, all right…” Toma picked himself up from the mess of pillows and blankets they had made and handed over the source of contention. “You can take your stupid manga back! Jeez, it’s not even the newest volume. I don’t get why you’re so worked up about it…”   
  
Aiba was barely even listening anymore. His long fingers were flipping through the crumpled pages, smoothing them against his heaving chest, his chocolate eyes an uncharacteristic shade of worry.   
  
And it was only when Nino saw the unmistakable milk tea stain on the cover that he realized which book it was, and more importantly, who it actually belonged to.   
  
_Who’d have thought, huh?_  Nino had to suppress a smirk of his own as he watched Aiba fuss over every little wrinkle as if he were some overblown version of MatsuJun in front of a full-length mirror.   
  
_Who’d have thought that the one to strike the biggest fear into darling Aiba’s heart would be… me?_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They were standing beneath a big twinkling tree, just the two of them, with their faces turned up and their eyes wide in awe of the dancing white LED’s that cast snowflake-like projections onto their frosty-pink cheeks. The snow had been cleared earlier with the heavy evening traffic, and the only people still on the streets were the occasional couples stumbling out of karaoke rooms, or the odd ramen boy rushing on his bike to deliver a late night snack to somebody farther off in town.   
  
Instinctively, their thin bodies drew close, puffs of their white breath mingling with each other among the quietly dancing shafts of pre-programmed Christmas lights. It felt like they were praying, though what for, Nino had no idea.   
  
“Look.” Aiba nudged him, and tendrils of warmth immediately grew from the point of contact up his chest and straight into the numb skin of his neck, where they tingled.   
  
Nino followed Aiba’s finger and gasped as the other boy stuck ripped off a glove and stuck his bare hand into a knotty hole in the tree trunk. “What are you doing?” he pulled at Aiba’s hood. “There could be bugs in there!”  
  
Aiba just laughed, which, come to think of it, was his standard answer to pretty much anything. “It’s winter, silly! There are no bugs.”   
  
With a broad grin, he withdrew his hand from the tree, and held it out to Nino in a closed fist.   
  
“Merry Christmas, Nino!”  
  
Nino looked at him suspiciously before stepping in to pry the fingers open. An odd assortment of nuts and acorns spilled out of Aiba’s palm, and little flakes of half-rotted leaves fluttered to the ground, some clinging onto Aiba’s thick sweatpants on the way.  
  
_Nuts, huh._  
  
Aiba was beaming as if he had just found treasure; he tipped a few acorns into Nino’s hand, and watched him expectantly, the velvet eyes shining oddly under the artificial light, waiting excitedly for some word of approval. Uncertainly, Nino rubbed the acorns against each other in his hands, not exactly sure how to react to this obvious enthusiasm.  
  
“We’re, uh, stealing from some poor squirrel, you know,” he said finally.   
  
A look of embarrassment entered those eyes as they guiltily deflated. “Ah, well, we can put them back, of course…”   
  
Aiba darted back to the tree and stuffed the nuts he had back into the knotty hollow. “Wouldn’t want a poor animal to starve because of us, right?” He looked back at Nino, one arm scratching the back of his head as a bashful giggle escaped his lips, and the younger boy was suddenly reminded of how closely his best friend resembled a soon-to-cry puppy, with those shaggy black bangs and sniffling wet nose all trembling in the frigid December cold.  
  
Seriously, Aiba could be such a _sensitive_  idiot at times.   
  
Smiling at the thought, Nino held one acorn up to Aiba's forlorn eyes and tucked it into his pocket before dumping the rest back into the tree.   
  
“We can keep just one,” he winked playfully. “Because it’s your birthday.”  
  
The taller boy blinked softly in the waxing lights of the festive trees, as if trying to see through an increasingly viscous patch of air. And then, with a tiny whimper, Nino’s head was suddenly pressed suffocatingly deep into the scratchy polyester of Aiba’s jacket. Long fingers were running through his hair, and another hand was clutching onto his waist like a stubborn vice.   
  
"My birthday...” Aiba’s voice sounded slightly choked. “No one ever remembers my birthday, because it’s so close to Christmas, but I- Nino-chan…”  
  
“Don’t call me that” muttered Nino, a pink flush completely unrelated to the cold creeping into his cheeks. “It’s not like I’m a girl or anything.”  
  
Aiba hugged him tighter. Through their coats and sweaters, Nino could feel a strange clench, and then,   
  
“Well, if you  _were_  a girl, you’d be  _my_  girl, right?”   
  
_What the—?_  The tone had changed. It was deeper now, and quieter. With an unsteady breath, Nino pushed himself out of the leech-like embrace to stare up at the other boy’s face, not daring to believe that his wacky, clueless partner had actually managed to say something so serious and home-hitting at such a perfectly romantic hour.  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, when a few seconds had passed and Aiba still hadn’t laughed or smirked or given any other indication that this was a joke. “Actually…” He blushed even more. “I-I’m not a girl or anything, but I'm sort of… al-already yours.”  
  
Aiba looked stupefied.  
  
“Wow, Nino, this…” The beautiful lips opened and closed dumbly before Aiba steadied himself with a visible gulp. “Are you, um, are you saying that you're in  _lov_ —”  
  
“It’s because you always pay for me!” Nino amended hastily, suddenly very frightened to hear Aiba finish that sentence. “I mean, I’m saving a fortune by being yours, I mean, like, your _friend_.”   
  
A weak laugh trailed out of his mouth, and he shivered slightly under the December night.   
  
Did Aiba’s shoulders just slump a little? Nino couldn’t bear to look. His heart was already in his throat; any more stimulation, and he was sure it’d come tumbling out of his mouth in a mortifying mess.   
  
“Oh, er, right,” said Aiba, and he gave an uncomfortable giggle in response. “Well, thanks anyway for hanging out with me tonight.” He reached out and awkwardly patted Nino on the shoulder, the soft doe-eyes glancing at the acorn lump in his pocket. “It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”   
  
Years later, Nino would find himself saying to a radio interviewer: “Since meeting Aiba-san, I have lost the concept of Christmas.” But the truth was not really that he had  _lost_  it; the truth was that he had simply chosen to replace it with something else. Something that had started with a pair of matching Reeboks and a peeling old basketball.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The first time Nino went to Hawaii, he had ended up debuting on a cruise ship. With bucktoothed MatsuJun and rich-boy Sakurai and cool but gentle Ohno Satoshi. And of course, Aiba. Aiba was in the group too, though Nino didn’t know about it until the day they boarded the plane and the familiarly thin giggle greeted him from behind a wall of luggage at the check-in counter.   
  
Before that, Nino hadn’t really wanted to debut or be an idol or anything (he had even spent a whole night at the similiarly-minded Sakurai's house trying to brainstorm diplomatic ways to quit), but hearing that giggle kind of changed things. Just a little.  
  
He sidled up to where his old train buddy was busy trying to extricate a tattered old manga from the mess of medicines, snacks and extra sunblock that Mrs. Aiba had undoubtedly stuffed into his bag beforehand, and snuck a pudgy little hand into the crook of Aiba’s ticklish armpit.   
  
“Hey, idiot,” he grinned when Aiba almost fell off his seat with a shriek. “Why didn’t you tell me you were also coming?”  
  
Aiba picked himself up and shot him a rather reproachful look. “I didn’t know about it myself until three days ago.” He looked around them, and then his eyes lit up with delight. “Let’s ask if we can share a room together!”   
  
For the first time in many weeks, Nino burst into genuine, uninhibited laughter.   
  
“You snore like a hog,” he told Aiba. “But I’ll still room with you.”  
  
Behind them, Sakurai Sho raised a rather inquisitive brow as he exchanged a glance with Ohno Satoshi.   
  
“Well,  _they_ sure seem happy,” observed the older boy drily.   
  
“Yeah, funny enough, they do…” replied Sho, frowning.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When they had finally been allowed to step off the boat and rest their tired arms (they had been waving at the sea for what seemed like  _hours_ , and Nino had to hold the urge to vomit the entire time), MatsuJun pulled Aiba into his room just as the sickly-looking Nino was about to lean on him as he had been  _dying_  to do this entire time.  
  
_What the hell does_ he _want with Aiba?_ Nino felt just the slightest twinge of annoyance at the intrusion, but bit his tongue back and simply stared as Aiba flashed him a big cheery grin before being yanked behind MatsuJun's door.  
  
_This is the only free time we're going to get for the next few days,_  he thought resentfully.  _Why's Aiba looking so happy?_  
  
Nino refused to admit that a few hours alone with Aiba in their shared hotel room was the only thing he'd been looking forward to throughout that tortuous ride on the  _Lady Sadie_  (who was, by the way, no 'lady' at all, if you asked Nino).  
  
Aiba didn't come back until two hours later, when Nino had just woke up from a sulky nap and was about to take off his clothes and sink himself into a deep, relaxing bath. He wasn't smiling as he immediately cornered Nino at the bathroom door.  
  
“What’s this I hear about you not wanting to debut?” he demanded, the velvet eyes full of confusion and betrayal. “MatsuJun said Johnny had to practically  _bribe_  you to be in Arashi, that you've been faking your smiles all day and that you just can’t wait to find an excuse to quit. Is this true?”  
  
Nino gawped.  
  
“Well, uh, not  _completely_ …” he answered finally, trying to squeeze past the older boy to get to the security of the toilet.   
  
Aiba whipped an arm across the bathroom doorway, blocking it from Nino’s slouching body. When he spoke again, there was a woundedness in his voice that Nino had never heard before.  
  
“Tell me why,” he said, the words almost breaking against his tongue. “Why do you want to leave me and MatsuJun? Is it because you’re afraid, Nino?”   
  
He stepped closer, eyes softening as they met Nino’s uncomfortable gaze.   
  
“Because if it is,” he continued, and here he actually reached out and grabbed both of the younger boy’s hands in his own. “If Nino’s really afraid, then I  _promise_  that I’ll do everything I can so that… so that… so that...”  
  
“So that what?" whispered Nino, feeling the calloused ridges of Aiba's hands grinding.   
  
“So that Nino and I can at least be afraid together!”  
  
Nino couldn’t help but smile at this clearly impromptu motivational speech.   
  
“Idiot,” he told him, finally finding his voice again. “What good will that do?”  
  
Aiba looked like he was about to cry, so Nino quickly pulled him into a hug, breathed in his familiar scent, and whispered in his ear, against the prickly dark brown of his beautiful head of hair:   
  
“I would never leave you, Masaki.”  
  
There was a muffled cry, and Nino felt two lanky arms curl around his shoulders and squeeze him like the tentacles of a weepy, clingy octopus.   
  
They stayed like that, hugging each other on the hard tiles of the bathroom floor (skipping dinner and causing quite a few raised eyebrows down in the hotel diner) until it was time to sleep, and Nino wearily untangled himself to change into his pajamas and lie down on their shared bed.   
  
It didn’t take long for Aiba to follow, and for the comforting heat of that body to spoon itself against Nino’s smaller frame under the covers.   
  
“I’ve always dreamed of a debut, you know,” said Aiba, nuzzling the back of Nino’s head. “But I never dreamed of doing it without you.”  
  
Nino hummed reassuringly, and fell asleep with a smile on his face.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Their second trip to Hawaii took on an entirely different timbre than their first. And again, it was all because of Aiba.   
  
Aiba who was sick with a hole in his lung that had to be patched up at top speed and then kept under very careful surveillance for days before the doctors had reluctantly agreed to let him go out of the country. Pneumothorax, it was. Nino knew all about it. The pathology. The treatment. The risk factors for recurrence. He had done his research as thoroughly as any professional the day he heard the news, but he still liked to pretend he knew nothing, just to see Aiba put on his wonky “sensei-glasses” and attempt to explain the disease as if he wasn’t a patient, but rather a doctor who had just a _teensy_  bit of trouble pronouncing the many kanji terms on his chart.   
  
“…they’re like balloons,” he was saying with his characteristic confidence. “And they need to inflate to work properly, you see. They have to have room to inflate in the chest, and when too much air gets in the chest, they can’t inflate, so they collapse and then-”  
  
“Wait, I don’t get it, sensei.” Nino faked the confused look of an ignorant pupil. “How can you get too much air in the chest without inflating the lungs in the first place?”   
  
Aiba scrunched his brow for a second, thinking hard. They were both sitting barefoot on the veranda of their shared hotel room in Waikiki, bony butts on cold tile and tired fingers playing with an unfurled leu that stretched across their laps. Then, his face lit up and his long arms began gesticulating all over the space between them as the answer came to him.  
  
“Great question, Nino!” he said brightly. “You see, the extra air doesn’t actually come from your nose and airways; it gets in because there’s actually a hole in space the lungs are supposed to be, so when the air leaks in, the lungs are squished and can’t inflate!”  
  
Nino was pretty sure he wouldn’t have understood much of that if he hadn’t already read a whole chapter on lung physiology in an online textbook, but he nodded along as if the explanation had been crystal clear.   
  
“Oh,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him. “So that’s how it works. I get it now.”  
  
He smiled at Aiba, watching him beaming and taking in his thinness with a slight twist of pity. Aiba had always liked to talk and move. He remembered that time when they both had to leave the jimusho late and Aiba kept bouncing and blabbering in the deserted train station because he was afraid the silent stillness would make them hear voices of dead people in their heads.   
  
He wondered if Aiba had blabbered himself to sleep every night as he lay alone in the hospital for the past few days. 

Was Aiba lonely?

  
He remembered how Aiba had to sit back during their dance lesson, and be the "bag-watcher" while everyone else practiced the egg-and-spoon race on the beach that afternoon.  
  
Nino sighed.  
  
_Of course he's lonely, stupid._  
  
The next day, their work began, and both Sho and MatsuJun insisted on letting Aiba rest as much as possible. Nino suspected that they were under direct orders from Aiba’s mother herself; he had seen her pulling them into the hallway when they visited Aiba in his squeaky clean hospital ward. She hadn’t asked for Nino, though. She probably knew that he couldn’t be trusted to keep Aiba from having fun in Hawaii.   
  
Silently, Nino watched as Sho and MatsuJun bickered over which camera they should let Aiba handle for the behind-the-scenes filming.   
  
“That one’s too big! It’ll crush his shoulders!”  
  
“Well, we can’t let him take  _that_ one, either. It’s for filming the race!”  
  
“He can just film the race from his seat!”  
  
“How the hell is that supposed to work? They need close-ups for the DVD!”  
  
“Well, there’s no way I’m letting him walk around with  _that_  hulking thing on his neck.”  
  
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Matsumoto!”  
  
“I’ll speak as I please,  _Sakurai_. You’re not the boss of me.”  
  
“ _Actually_  I’m your senpai, you-”  
  
Deftly, Nino stepped in between them before the punches could start flying.  
  
“Neither of you is the boss of anyone,” he said in his best stern voice. “Including Aiba.”   
  
He glared at them a little, a surprisingly surge of ferocity rising in his chest as he thought of the desolate silhouette he had seen yesterday, sighing among the swaying palm trees as the four of them had to dance vigorously under the relentless eye of their choreographer. The image made his eyes harden, and both Jun and Sho took a step back in surprise, staring at him.  
  
“Whoa, Nino, no need to get all serious like that…” Sho made an uncharacteristically thin attempt at a laugh before tucking a hand behind his neck and inclining his head in a mildly apologetic nod. “We’re just trying to look out for our Aiba-chan, you know.”  
  
“Then why don’t you try  _including_  him in our routines instead of ordering him around like some crippled pawn?” Nino growled, the strange ferocity swelling up even more as he remembered the velvet misery that had been secretly sniffling under the blankets all last night. “He’s Arashi after all. A little hole in his chest isn’t going to prevent him from having fun with the rest of us.”  
  
Sho and MatsuJun exchanged a glance. A rather shame-faced, downcast, and somewhat  _collusive_  glance.   
  
“Include him, you say?”  
  
Nino wasn't liking the over-thoughtfulness in Sho's tone, but he puffed out his chest anyway and glared back challengingly. “Yeah!”  
  
“Well, then...” Sho nodded at MatsuJun. And MatsuJun nodded back at Sho. And before even the sharp-witted Nino could puzzle out what had just transpired between his two bossy bandmates, Sho had already grabbed a nearby mic, hopped onto their stage, and was shouting something about a new “punishment game” they were going to try out later in the afternoon.   
  
The fans were ecstatic.  
  
MatsuJun was smirking.  
  
That was usually a good sign, Nino told himself.   
  
Mere hours later, Nino almost bust a fuse when he heard the details of this new “plan to include Aiba” during their pre-race MC.   
  
“…and yes, as promised, whoever loses the race will be subjected to a new punishment game!” Sho was announcing in his bright, booming voice.   
  
“It’ll involve Aiba-chan!” MatsuJun chimed in, to the roaring delight of the crowd.   
  
“You know,” continued Sho conversationally, as he paced the stage. “Our Aiba-chan has been feeling a bit lonely recently, since he can’t participate in so many of our activities.”  
  
Expectantly, the fans held their breaths, waiting with fixed eyes for Sakurai’s next words.  
  
“Which is why, as his loving bandmates, we’re going to let him give one of us a KISS!” Sho shouted into the mic, and immediately the crowd of fans leapt up in one screaming wave of excitement.   
  
MatsuJun jumped over to share a smug high-five with Sho onstage, and it took every ounce of professionalism for Nino to restrain himself from jumping up and slapping them both across their handsomely smiling cheeks.   
  
_How dare they exploit Aiba’s vulnerability like that?_  Nino could feel a rare rage boil up inside him. He ground his teeth together, and clenched a fist around his own mic.  _How dare they treat his misery like some common gag, like it's nothing but fodder for a good joke?_    
  
A huff of disgust escaped him as he stood behind their obliviously smiling Leader (who, of course, would never say no to a kiss from another member), and he lowered his head so no one would be able to see the thunderclouds swarming on his face.   
  
Then, suddenly, a new voice broke out over the cheering crowd, and Nino’s head jerked up in astonishment at the breathy joy in its tone.   
  
“Thank you, thank you, everyone!” it was saying, all warm and happy as it projected out from the speakers. “Thank you, MatsuJun, and you, Sho-chan; thank you for thinking of me! You know I love kisses!”  
  
Nino’s jaw fell slack as he watched Aiba jokingly try to kiss first Sho, then Jun, getting rebuffed quite hilariously by both in turn. The fans went rabid, and Aiba beamed like the Hawaiian sun itself, one arm around each of his two bandmates and  _completely_ reveling in his element.   
  
“Will it be lips on lips kissing?” he asked innocently with one sidelong glance to the crowd.  
  
“Of course!” answered MatsuJun with a wicked laugh.   
  
“Should there be tongue-on-tongue as well?” Aiba’s face was still the picture of innocence as both Sho and MatsuJun gave him a simultaneous smack to the head.   
  
“There are  _children_  here, baka!!”  
  
Leader was now chuckling in amusement, and Nino was suddenly struck by a highly disturbing thought.  
  
_What if Aiba actually_ wants _to kiss one of us?_  
  
That was quickly followed by another, even more disturbing thought.   
  
_What if the person he wants to kiss_ isn’t _me?_  
  
The gears in his head were starting to churn rather painfully, and he threw the pervertedly laughing Leader a  _very_  dirty look before clenching his jaw down in determination.   
  
_Well, I guess I’ll just have to lose the race, then._  
  
He looked at the muscles on Sho and the long legs on Jun and the athletic leanness of Leader.  
  
_Shouldn't be too hard, right?_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Twenty minutes later, Nino lost the race.   
  
And Aiba got his kiss.   
  
And both Nino and Aiba were flushing like ripe-to-burst tomatoes as Sho finally let go of Nino’s arms (from where they were jokingly holding him down for his “punishment”).   
  
_And_  because once was clearly not enough, those smirking devils Sakurai and Matsumoto had to insist on “including” Aiba a second time on the last day.   
  
“Loser gets the Aiba-kiss! Aiba-kiss! Aiba-kiss!”   
  
The chant had gone up and spread around the hormone-pumped audience like wildfire before the day had even started. Several people were looking at Nino rather pointedly this time, doubtlessly because he and Aiba had given such a fine performance before (Nino thought this with some satisfaction). One fan was even holding up a hastily made Sobusen sign as an uchiwa and frantically trying to wave it above the heads of several people in the back row.   
  
“Well,” muttered Nino with just the tiniest of flutters in his heart. “Can’t really disappoint my fans, now can I?”  
  
With as much nonchalance as could be faked, he glanced at Aiba, only to find that the other boy was (as usual) giggling and waving to the fans like a little kid who had just climbed onto the tallest mountain in the world.   
  
But then—and Nino’s heart legitimately skipped a beat when he saw this—a cloud shifted above them and sunlight rained down like a golden curtain over Aiba’s face just as he locked eyes with the girl holding up the Sobusen sign and blew her a sneaky, almost conspiratorial, kiss.   
  
Could anyone really blame Nino for losing the race a second time?   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The flight back was like a dream in the clouds. Nino twirled his snitched hotel pen, a lazy hand on his chin and a sleeping Aiba threatening to totter onto his shoulder. The calendar book on the tray table in front of him had another two pages cut out now.  
  
Kiss number 3 and kiss number 4.  
  
Nino’s brow furrowed thoughtfully as he watched the wing of their aircraft tingle and shiver over the tufted wonderland beneath them.  
  
Next time, he decided, he’d try to stage it so that he didn’t have to be held down when it happened.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
“Will you relax, Nino?” MatsuJun glowered at him from over the top of his reading glasses like some strict old librarian telling off a child. “We still have three more hours of traipsing around in these ninja rags, and I hear the Hime-sama wants a  _piggy-back_  ride this time, so if I have to re-shoot anything because of you, I  _will_ be tempted to murder.”   
  
“Do you think he’s nervous?” Nino wheeled around to look wildly back at his younger bandmate, completely ignoring the threat. “Well, of course he’s nervous; it’s his first time and he’s never been much of an actor, but I mean, do you think he’s nervous enough to forget lines and knock over set pieces and improvise silly shit that makes no sense and screws up the play and makes everyone, including himself, break character in an absolute shit show that the critics will delight to joke about for all the years of showbiz to come?”   
  
He ran a hand through his already ruffled hair, breathing audibly, and stared anxiously into the stunning eyes of the man who had just been dubbed “2005’s newest heartthrob” by last month’s  _Myojo_.   
  
Matsumoto Jun merely raised an exquisite brow in response. He was, in many regards, just like Nino, cucumber-cool with a whip for a tongue, which was probably why Nino found it so easy to let out his agitations in front of him. Sometimes, Nino even wondered if Jun  _knew_ , because Jun was every bit as eerily good at reading people as Sho was, but unlike the more earnest Sho, Arashi’s youngest member seemed to derive a certain smug delight from letting the information age slowly in his head as he waited for the perfect occasion to use it in a devastating zinger.   
  
Yeah, even Nino had to admit that when it came to the art of tsunderism, MatsuJun had shown some uncanny potential for hitting it where it hurt the most, even if half the time, he could be found apologizing for it afterward.   
  
Still, he wondered why the man wasn’t more anxious about their fellow band mate’s first individual lead role in a stage play. Aiba was going to be carrying a whole show on his own, after all, and  _none_ of them would be present to help him. There’d be no Jun to nudge him about costume changes and no Sho to fill in awkward gaps during the ending speeches. Ohno, their stage play veteran, wouldn’t be there to be his silent comfort blanket, either.  
  
But most importantly,  _Nino_ wasn’t going to be there. And Nino had  _always_  been there, performing by Aiba’s side, making sure the staff didn’t neglect him, and comforting him with vulgar jokes and copious doses of his mother’s homemade umeboshi when big-shot directors treated them like the little nobodies they were.   
  
MatsuJun, of all people, had to know that Aiba couldn’t function properly if he didn’t get a few backstage smacks from Nino before each and every show. Did he not remember what had happened during that one performance of _Stand By Me_  when Nino had decided to busy himself with memorizing his lines instead of fooling around with Aiba just minutes before the opening curtain?   
  
Well, if he did, he was being surprisingly laid back about it.   
  
“He’ll be fine.” MatsuJun flicked a ball of lint off his sleeve with a disapproving sniff, undoubtedly still cringing inside at the unflattering costumes. “Though he’ll probably be crippled by a laughing seizure if I were to text him right now and tell him about your sudden metamorphosis into a fussy mother hen.”  
  
“Don’t you dare!” Nino whirled around in a panic, but then relaxed when he saw the tender amusement in his bandmate’s eyes. “It’s just, he’s always been pretty sensitive, you know? He gets upset when people say mean things about his work.”  
  
MatsuJun chuckled. “I know,” he said.  
  
“And he keeps saying that he could just continue doing variety shows and leave the acting up to us if it doesn’t work out, but you know that he’s just  _saying_  that, right? Aiba loves acting.”  
  
MatsuJun took a step closer, still smiling. “I know,” he said again.   
  
“He just needs a bit of encouragement,” said Nino, looking helplessly as MatsuJun’s arms came round to give his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “He lights right up with just a tiny bit of encouragement.”  
  
“Yes,” replied the smiling voice. “I’ve noticed it.”  
  
Nino looked up at MatsuJun’s curiously twinkling eyes. “It’s just, I mean, I’m just- a little- you know-”  
  
_“I know.”_  
  
Nino could have sworn that there was a rather suggestive smirk hidden somewhere on that flawless face, but he let himself sink into the comforting blanket of MatsuJun’s confidence anyway.   
  
“You know everything, don’t you?” he grumbled.  
  
Jun only smiled some more.   
  
That night when the play ended, Nino was already seated comfortably in Aiba’s backstage green room, waiting with a big bouquet and an extra serving of his mother’s homemade umeboshi in his lap.   
  
“Nino?”   
  
The door opened, and a surprised  _gaspy_ voice came through.   
  
“About time you came back.” Nino tossed the bouquet into Aiba’s bewildered arms coolly and stood up, running his shrewd eyes over the glittering confetti still draped across his bandmate’s head and shoulders. “Oh goodness, how many curtain calls did they make you do?”  
  
“Seven.” Aiba’s voice was quivering with happiness. “ _Seven_ , Nino! Oh, they loved me!”  
  
Aiba’s subsequent dissolution into a mess of bawling laughter and salty wet hugs might just have been the most beautiful sight Nino ever laid eyes on.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Click click.  
  
In 1998, Nino had told a magazine: “The cameraman gave me a photo of me and Aiba-kun as a present. When Aiba-kun becomes a big star in the future, I’ll show it off to everyone and brag.”*   
  
Well, it was 2006 now, and as Nino picked his duffel off baggage claim and swung it over his shoulder with the palm-fringed skyline of Los Angeles beckoning him from the other side of the glass, he had to admit that of the two of them,  _he_  had inadvertently become the bigger star, with his lead roles in dramas and now, his much-touted Hollywood debut. It was beyond his comprehension, really, that things had turned out this way; he didn’t know why people liked his reedy, breathless voice or why they found his scrawny body enticing (a girl at a concert had actually held up an uchiwa saying “Nino, take it off!” once), and it absolutely astounded him that people would actually devote blogs and journals to his natural sulkiness, which was called “refreshingly irreverent sarcasm” and apparently a source of great  _amusement_ to many.   
  
Well, people were strange and unpredictable creatures, Nino concluded with a shake of his head. Because in Nino’s mind, there was no doubt as to who should be getting most of the attention in Arashi. And yes, he might be biased, but how could  _anyone_  overlook Aiba in favor of him? Aiba’s voice was plain but soft like a teddy bear’s embrace, and Aiba’s body was long and toned and burnished with a beautiful birthmark on his left shoulder that was sexier than anything on Nino’s twig-like arms. Aiba also had a terribly genuine laugh that Nino could never fake, because Aiba had a joy of dancing and splashing and looking completely lame while all Nino could ever think about most of the time was when he could get back to where he’d previously logged off on his DS.   
  
Aiba was shy, loud, pervy and silly all at once, and Aiba was perfection.  
  
More perfect than Nino, at any rate. And Nino really wished more people could see that.   
  
He still kept the photo in his wallet. The precious two-shot of the 15-year-old them flashing peace signs and cheeky grins in between takes at the studio. It was always tucked under the clear plastic pocket, where he could see it as soon as he opened the leather fold. None of the others knew about it, of course. It would have been a bit embarrassing if they found out, so Nino had made it a habit never to bring his wallet out to Arashi-related gatherings.   
  
He did, however, bring it with him to Hollywood.   
  
And the next day, when Mr. Eastwood (who he had already started calling ‘Clint’) greeted him and asked him how he was liking LA, Nino simply reached into his back pocket and took out the photo.   
  
“LA is nice,” he said in halting English. “But this guy, this  _good-looking guy_ , I miss him.”  
  
Clint chuckled so hard he spilt his bag of peanuts all over the floor.   
  
And Nino smiled proudly as the American director leaned closer for a better look. Sure, he was the bigger star now, so to speak, but who said that that should stop him from bragging about Aiba?   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Wrath.   
  
Now that was a word Nino had never associated with Aiba. Because Aiba was never  _wrathful._  Sure, there were times when Aiba would smack people, and there was even once where he  _kicked_  Jun, but those were more out of what Nino would call annoyance than real, unforgiving  _wrath_.  
  
Because surely, Aiba Masaki, the sunshine of Arashi (and the most perfect human being to ever walk the earth), was incapable of anything as ugly as wrath.   
  
Or so Nino thought.  
  
Until that one time in late 2006, when all five of them had been invited to speak out against schoolyard bullying on Sho’s  _News Zero_.   
  
Nino hadn’t wanted to participate, even though he knew it’d do a lot of good to speak out about his experiences. It had been over a decade, after all, and he was now standing tall, living a life full of warmth and openness where his most pressing source of anxiety was how to get his loving bandmates to pay for his lunch every day. But still… the memories were like a long-festering abscess that flared to high hell when touched even slightly, and that despairing pain was something Nino  _never_ wanted his bandmates to know, even just as a second-hand account.  
  
Sho had been gentler than usual as he guided their conversation on camera. Perhaps he could sense the fragility of Nino’s composure. That wasn’t really surprising. Sho was someone who could read even the tiniest changes in atmosphere, after all, and he was someone who could be trusted to steer their talk to safe harbors where Nino would  _not_ be in danger of breaking down into uncomely tears on national TV.   
  
“Has anyone in Arashi ever been bullied? Can you tell us what it was like?” Sakurai-the-caster was asking them, and Nino didn’t miss the almost imperceptible nod that was directed his way.   
  
_Well, here goes…_  He gave an internal sigh and angled his body slightly so that he wouldn’t have to see the sunshine in Aiba’s eyes dim.  
  
“I’ve been bullied before,” he answered quietly to Sho’s darkly sympathetic eyes. “I can tell you what it’s like.”  
  
An unnatural stillness settled over the other three members, prickling at the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck, but he crossed his arms and hunched over closer to the gentle-looking Sho.  
  
“Everything would be my fault,” he continued doggedly. “When something went missing, it’d be my fault. When  _anything_  went missing, it’d be my fault. I was always to blame.”   
  
A low growl sounded behind him, but Nino kept his eyes focused on Sho, trying, trying so hard to get all the words out.   
  
“There was no way out of it.” He swallowed. “Even if they stopped picking on me, I’d still have to watch as they lash out on some other poor boy. It was- it was bad.” He stopped himself, feeling the beginnings of a waver in his voice, and looked imploringly at Sho.  
  
This was harder than he had expected.   
  
There was a subtle side-eye from the caster to the camera man, and suddenly Nino felt a warm hand on his shoulder.   
  
“The camera man needs to use the restroom,” said Sho smoothly to everyone. “We’ll take a two minute break before the next segment, all right?”  
  
He squeezed Nino’s shoulder in a brotherly, reassuring way, and Nino sighed in relief.   
  
He had never felt more grateful to have Sakurai Sho as a friend.   
  
That didn’t stop him from rushing out the green room the minute their day was over, though. He desperately needed air, needed solitude, and above all he needed something (preferably hard) to _kick_ against. The sixth floor roof garden, which was usually both secluded and deserted, was the first place his weary mind could think of, but when he finally stumbled there, he found its gate unlatched, and voices could be heard from within the normally quiet overgrowth.   
  
“No, you give me that yearbook right now, Sakurai!”  
  
Nino’s breath hitched sharply in shock. That voice… it was… Nino was quite sure that it was Aiba’s, but he had never heard Aiba speak like this, so furious, so unrelenting, so  _belligerent_.   
  
“Calm down, you idiot.” Sho’s exasperated voice floated through. “It’s not going to make a difference  _now_. You’ll accomplish nothing but a ticket to court for stalking and assault.”  
  
“I don’t care! It doesn’t matter!” shouted Aiba, and there was a sound of fist crashing on wood that made Nino flinch. “I’m going to hunt down every boy in that class until I find out who those assholes were and give them a piece of my mind!”  
  
Nino’s heart froze; he could feel it dangling in his suddenly prickly throat.   
  
“Aiba-shi…” Weakly, he covered his mouth, whimpering to himself, and a warm droplet began to leak traitorously from his eye. “Oh, Aiba-shi…”  
  
The world was blurring into a glistening blob of marble and wood before his eyes, and he couldn’t bear to listen anymore, couldn’t bear to even imagine what kind of thunder was currently brewing on Aiba’s normally sunny face, so he ran off and barricaded himself in the nearest restroom before anyone could discover him.   
  
When he returned to the green room, he was back to his normal self, snarky, charming, willfully engaging; and Aiba was back to his baseline of chirps and idiotic quips, too. Nino would never have guessed that just half an hour ago, his best friend was yelling for a bloody  _brawl_  to take out those who had once upon a time wronged him.   
  
Nino was grateful for that.  
  
Sho was watching him with narrowed eyes, and Nino knew that he could expect to be cornered by Arashi’s fussy mother hen sometime in the very near future, but for the time being, he ignored the older man and went over to sit next to Aiba on the couch, wordlessly resting his head on that narrow but sturdy shoulder before pulling out his deck of cards.   
  
“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.   
  
“Sure,” Aiba replied, his voice like tender sunshine.  
  
He pulled Nino in even closer so that Nino’s head was nestled right up against that well-known surgical scar, and Nino smiled as he began shuffling, a fuzzy warmth filling his chest at this subtly protective gesture.  
  
“Can Nino perform his tricks in this position?” Aiba laughed, sounding just like the noisy airheaded Aiba he had always been.   
  
Nino shrugged. “For Aiba-chan I can.”   
  
He tilted his head up to meet Aiba’s doe-like eyes, wondering just how much anger was still roiling restrained behind that tender façade.   
  
It was quite shocking when he saw none at all. In fact, there was nothing fierce in those eyes, and all Nino could see was a pool of pure, unembellished  _love_. As if Aiba had poured all his passion and all his fire into the softness that was now flowing from those dreamy chocolate eyes to Nino’s gawking face. As if nothing in the world mattered but the invisible bond that was wrapping its fibers around them, couching them in a rainbow cocoon that hung far above the ugly things that crawled the mean little world beneath them. Nino’s stomach did a mini-somersault as Aiba began stroking his hair like in an undeniably _lover_ -like way.  
  
“I wonder what else Nino would do for me,” mused the gorgeous lips.   
  
Nino’s mouth opened and he almost  _confessed_ , right then and there, but Sakurai chose that moment to noisily shake out his newspaper, and the confession that was on the tip of his tongue retreated back down his throat like a dog with its tail between its legs.   
  
_Maybe some other day,_ he sighed inwardly.   
  
_Or maybe he’ll finally figure it out on his own._  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
“And now it’s time for…. ARASHI’S COSPLAY PARTY!!!!!”  
  
The announcer’s voice blared across the studio like an overarching rainbow that tugged chariots of stars around Nino’s wildly beating heart.   
  
“Ready?” said Aiba as they both waited behind the curtain.   
  
Nino looked down at his frilly secretary dress, and then again at the oversized salaryman suit hanging off Aiba’s thin shoulders.   
  
“We look ridiculous,” he complained.   
  
“That’s exactly the point,” Aiba grinned and pulled him closer. The announcer’s voice rang out again with their cue:  
  
“… so please welcome, the highly inappropriate Aiba-buchou, and his secretary Kazuko!!”  
  
Nino barely had time to adjust his lopsided collar before he was trapped in a farcically intimate headlock and dragged onstage.   
  
“Kyaaa~!” The audience screeched delightedly.    
  
Nino could barely see them, though. Trousered legs were wrapping themselves around his, and his body was being manhandled into a stiff corner at the edge of set; hands—wild and roaming—were groping everywhere on his blouse, and long fingers were scuttling across his plastic buttons like multilegged insects in search of sordid, unspeakable crevices.   
  
“Ah-!” Nino gasped in shock as his butt was suddenly bent over to jut snugly into what  _had_  to be his bandmate’s crotch.   
  
Shit. His  _crotch._    
  
That wasn’t part of the plan.  
  
Nino froze, then struggled like he had never before (though not quite hard enough to actually detach himself from that oft-fantasized  _crotch_ ). A large hand came up to clamp around his panting mouth.   
  
“Mmmrrffggh—Aiba!!”  
  
“Shhh—!!” was the only reply from his assailant, and then the voice turned sly. “There’s no one here, Kazuko.”   
  
Nino never thought this would happen on camera in front of a screaming audience, but every drop of blood in his veins was currently tingling with anticipation of what Aiba’s dulcet tones were promising against his gasping cheeks, and he was actually getting quite, erm,  _aroused_ in spite of himself.  
  
“Mmmmfffhh mmblease…” he moaned piteously, still muffled behind Aiba’s hand.   
  
Aiba only gripped him tighter and began rocking his sinful hips.  
  
“Kazuko! Kazuko! Oh, my love, Kazuko!” The cries of their fake lovemaking echoed throughout the studio and sent several of their spectators rolling from their chairs in fits of hilarity.   
  
Naughtily, Aiba turned Nino towards the wall where the camera couldn’t see his chest, and slipped a cunning hand  _under_  the folds of his ill-fitting blouse.   
  
_Oh holy heavens…._  Nino closed his eyes to memorize this moment forever. Aiba grinning. The audience wild. Ogu-san’s eyes shining with (rather disturbing) interest, and the other members supporting each other in a heap of uncontrollable laughter.   
  
He bit down on his lip and trembled violently as spurts of secret pleasure soiled the uncomfortably tight leggings under his skirt.  
  
_Best job in the world, this._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Then came the  _Maou_ period.  
  
It had all started (as things often did) with the tabloids. And two tattling women. And the very unfortunate fact that Leader was a completely uninhibited drunk who would say yes to anyone and anything as long as they promised him all-you-can-eat ramen and threw in a fishing metaphor.  
  
But somehow, it was Nino who received a call from their publicist when the incriminating photos were leaked and splashed across what seemed like every tabloid in Japan.   
  
“Nino.” The middle-aged man sounded like he had just been squeezed through the sphincter of hell itself. “You know how badly this could go down.”   
  
“Yeah,” said Nino, frowning as he flipped to page two of the scandalous article. “But why are you talking to me? I’m not the one who’s just been accused of having a pot-infused threesome.”  
  
“Ohno-kun’s already been up all night with my staff.” The man sighed wearily. “And just to be clear, there was no  _pot._  But that’s beside the point. Right now, I need you to help out with some damage control.”   
  
“I’m yours to command,” replied Nino, tossing the tabloid aside in distaste.  
  
“Good.” The man sounded just a bit relieved. “It’s nothing too out of the ordinary, really. I just want you to up the skinship with Ohno-kun anytime you’re in public or on camera.”  
  
Nino felt an eyebrow slowly rise up.  
  
“That’s it?” he asked, trying very hard not to let his lack of faith show. “You, um, you think that me groping him a few more times on camera will really make a difference?”  
  
Seriously, he wondered how much Johnny-san was paying this guy to come up with grand plans like this.   
  
“Well, actually, you know… I was hoping you could maybe do, er, a bit, er, a bit more than just  _groping_ , so to speak.”  
  
“Oh.” Nino was suddenly at a loss, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what would come out of his phone next. “Well… what kind of… um…”  
  
“Kissing. On the lips. With tongue if you’re comfortable.”  
  
“Ah, well, that’s fine-” Nino sighed in relief. That wasn’t so bad. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it to Leader before, but the publicist wasn’t finished yet.  
  
“Flirting, too. I want blatant flirting. And it’s gotta seem real; you should tie in some real life anecdotes, maybe even get seen together in a gay bar in private. You know, to get the media talking.”  
  
“In  _private_?” Nino’s throat was tightening up again as he finally began to see where this was going. “You want me to act like I’m actually in _love_  with him? Like, actual,  _gay_ love?”   
  
“Believe me, Nino, any headline other than ‘marijuana threesome’ is going to go a long way in preserving Arashi’s integrity.”  
  
“Oh yeah, sure.” Nino couldn’t keep his sarcasm to himself any longer. “Arashi’s Leader: sodomizing his members. That _totally_  sounds conducive to preserving the integrity of our group.”  
  
The publicist sighed like a slowly leaking tire.   
  
“I’m sorry we have to drag your name through the mud a bit here, Nino, but believe me, it’s the most benign headline we can think of with enough punch to dispel those 3P memories… So please, as a special favor, for the group….”  
  
Nino played with his fingers, unwilling to give in just yet, even though there was hardly any doubt in his mind that he would do whatever it took to protect Arashi. No matter what the personal cost...  
  
“Do the others know what you’re asking me to do?” he asked.  
  
“No,” was the reply, and Nino didn’t push the topic further. There was a pregnant pause, and then the publicist heaved a deep, crackly breath.   
  
“If it’ll make you feel better, I could, uh, I could tell Aiba-kun about this so there's no misunderstandings…”  
  
Nino almost dropped the phone.  
  
“What the hell’s that supposed to imply?” he snapped, when he finally managed to recover himself. “Aiba’s got nothing—absolutely  _nothing_ — to do with any of this, you hear me? I'll do whatever the hell you want with Ohno, but you leave Aiba out of this!”   
  
The publicist sighed again, this time in an almost pitying manner.   
  
“Rest assured, Ninomiya-kun,” he said. “This will remain our little secret.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The latter half of 2008 was hell. Burning, sleepless, and inescapable hell. Nino woke up every morning feeling like crap, and it only worsened when the first image that popped into his head was always one of a gut-wrenching Aiba. Oh it was subtle. Very subtle. And if Nino hadn’t spent roughly half his life with the man, he’d never have guessed that anything was wrong at all. But Nino knew his best friend well enough to catch everything and infer the rest: the halfway pout, the stiff back, the velvet eyes withdrawing further and further behind those shaggy bangs… Once, Nino had squirmed to his side during a food segment on  _Shukudai_ and smacked him straight on his fluffy permed hair, but instead of ducking and whining at him, Aiba had turned first to look at the daydreaming Ohno, and when he turned back to Nino, the younger member had been astonished to notice a residual hint of  _fear_ in those velvet eyes. Like Aiba was actually  _scared_  of Leader.   
  
God, but Nino really hated his life. The only redeeming thing about it was that the gay-Ohmiya ploy seemed to be working, and most of the fan forums seemed more intent on accusing their agency of trying to “fabricate shots of a 3P in order to pass Ohno off as straight” and fighting each other on differing views of homosexuality than they were to express outrage at the simple fact that the baby-faced idol Ohno Satoshi was actually an impressively kinky animal in bed.   
  
_At least Leader doesn’t look like he has a perpetual thundercloud above his head these days_. Nino laced up his shoes as he prepared to head to work.  _And at least_  he  _seems completely oblivious to my ‘advances,’ ironic though that may be._  
  
His doorbell rang just as he was about to open his door.   
  
“It’s me.” Ohno’s croak came from the other side. Nino unlatched the locks and pursed his lips at his Leader’s frostily-pink face on his doorstep.   
  
“I’d invite you in, but I’m actually just about to head out to work.”  
  
Ohno shrugged, unperturbed as always. “That’s okay. I have work today, too. I was thinking we could take the train together.”  
  
Nino raised a brow inquisitively. “You live right by the studio,” he pointed out. “You’re saying you came all the way out here in the mid-November cold just so you could retrace two thirds of your train ride with me?”   
  
Ohno shrugged again, like it was no big deal. “Let’s go.”  
  
They walked side by side for a bit, feeling the morning chill dissolve and watching the city around them stretch into a reluctant yawn, waking up house by house. Occasionally, Nino would shoot his Leader a sidelong glance, but Ohno didn’t seem to think that he was obliged to make any conversation, despite his sudden intrusion into Nino’s daily commute. They approached the entrance to the populated station, and Nino nodded at Ohno.   
  
“Give me your hand, Leader.”   
  
“Mm.”   
  
Nino suspected that his leader’s mind was probably still bobbing on the choppy waters of Tokyo Bay somewhere, but he looped an arm through Ohno’s anyway, and couldn’t help a genuine smile as he read the look of childish pleasure that spread over the older man’s face.   
  
“Nino likes to touch me,” said Ohno absently. “My hands and my butt and my face.”  
  
Nino laughed. “I like touching everyone,” he answered easily, though deep in his heart, a bloody thorn twisted itself.  
  
“It is very nice to be touched by Nino,” agreed the older man.   
  
They took out their train cards and swiped into the platform. Nino dutifully re-latched himself on to his leader’s arm as soon as the automated gates closed behind them.    
  
“You must  _really_ like touching me,” observed Leader.  
  
“Well, if I don’t touch an old man like you, no one will,” replied Nino, snarky as ever.  
  
They stood by the tracks and waited patiently for the train to come. The monitor indicated that there were two more minutes. Neither of them spoke, and Nino felt his palm gradually getting moist against the crook of Ohno’s elbow.   
  
When they got to the studio, Nino’s hand was already quite cramped from clawing Ohno’s arm for so long. So as soon as the green room door closed behind them, he pulled away with a mental sigh of relief.   
  
“DS time,” he explained cheekily, because Leader actually looked a little bewildered at the abrupt withdrawal. “There are two levels I want to clear before make-up comes along to powder our faces…”  
  
“You could’ve played on the train,” Leader pointed out.   
  
“I could have,” conceded Nino. “But I didn’t feel like playing on the train. I feel like playing now.”  
  
He kicked off his shoes and settled obstinately into his usual spot on the couch, flipping open his DS to the familiar log-on tone.   
  
Ohno just stood, blinking still as stone, behind him.   
  
“Nino never touches me when we’re not in public,” he said, more quietly than usual, and the weight of those words was enough to make Nino’s DS fall limp in his lap.  
  
Leader paused, as though waiting for Nino to recover a bit before hitting him with a second, targeted observation:  
  
“Nino also stopped touching Aiba-chan.”  
  
The shocked gamer turned around on his cushion and gaped at the knowing look in his leader’s dark eyes.  
  
"Is there something Nino's been hiding from me?"  
  
He really should have known that Leader hadn’t been just  _daydreaming_ this whole time.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
By their tenth anniversary, they were selling so well that everyone had forgotten about everything. The fans forgot about Ohmiya. The press forgot about the threesome. The agency forgot about punishing them, and instead spared no expense to ensure that they had the most extravagant presence in all mainstream media for their tenth birthday. Ohno, Aiba, Sho and MatsuJun all got starring drama contracts.  _VS Arashi_  was bumped to golden time.  _Himitsu no Arashi-chan_  got a complete make-over with new corners and a swanky new couch. They even managed to get the Kokuritsu Stadium for a second year so that MatsuJun could indulge in another glittery decorating spree when concert season came around.   
  
Aiba was looking ecstatic these days, especially after the 5x10 tour. His skin glowed, his hair shone, and his movements were bouncy and full of vigor. Sho told Nino it was because he had spent a whole night hugging Ohno and bawling their lungs out in their hotel room after the last concert.   
  
“Those crybabies…” Sho was shaking his head in exasperation. “What is there to cry about?”  
  
Nino thought of the fearful look Aiba used to fix on Ohno whenever he got too close, and smiled.   
  
“Plenty,” he murmured thoughtfully.   
  
Sho raised a brow, but chose not to inquire further about the mushy glint in Nino’s eyes.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Touching.   
  
Maybe it was pent up sexual energy, or maybe it was his subconscious trying to goad Aiba into  _realizing_ something, but Nino kept getting these urges to touch Aiba. It was getting quite out of hand. He would tsukkomi Aiba at the slightest instigation, and on the most recent episode of  _Music Lovers Live,_  he had hugged, smacked, pinched and squeezed Aiba a whopping 14 times in the space of just 45 minutes. He was sure that even someone as thick-headed as Aiba would have noticed  _something_.   
  
Well, he was wrong. Aiba had just laughed and joked with everybody as they walked off the set, and then waved a jaunty “otsukare~” before disappearing out the revolving studio doors. He hadn’t even stopped to pat Nino’s back on his way out.   
  
Nino told himself that it was pathetic how disappointing that felt.   
  
“Did Aiba leave already?” Sho popped his head out from behind a curtain.   
  
“Yeah,” said Nino. “Just two minutes ago.”  
  
“Damn!” Sho started jamming shoes onto his feet. “I was hoping he’d take me to his house tonight. He said he would last week, but then an accident with a frickin’  _kangaroo_  happened, and we had to cancel.”  
  
Nino could feel his eyes narrowing in spite of himself.   
  
“Why did he want to take you to his house?” he asked, trying to act unaffected. It wasn’t anything scandalous, after all, for two members of the same group to hang out outside of work. He had to keep telling himself that.  
  
Sho was surveying his younger bandmate with a curious look.   
  
“Why are you so interested?” he asked back, all of a sudden forgetting Aiba and focusing instead on the tiny red blush spreading over Nino’s ears.  
  
Nino’s witty tongue froze to the roof of his mouth, and he didn’t answer.   
  
But approximately one year later, when Sho and Aiba shared a rather hammed-up kiss on the set of their nationally aired  _VS Arashi_  program, Nino would feel that same curious stare from Arashi’s second eldest fixing itself on his boiling face. And Nino would finally realize that everyone, yes  _everyone_ , knew about him and his unnatural—bordering on incestuous—desire.   
  
Well, everyone except the one who it actually concerned.   
  
With a frustrated grunt, Nino stuffed his DS into his bag and hurried out the way Aiba went.   
  
Fourteen years… they’d been together fourteen years! How could that idiot be  _so completely clueless_?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Digitalian. 2014.   
  
“So is the song about me?” Aiba teased, his bangs falling over his eyes in that languidly handsome look all the photographers had grown obsessed with recently.   
  
Nino wasn’t exactly known for being modest (at least not outwardly), but even he had to admit that when it came to looking effortlessly handsome, no one could pull it off the way Aiba did. And he would rather eat dung than ever admit this, but the reason his private clothes were always the same ratty T-shirt and jeans was because all his closets at home were filled with 18 years’ worth of Aiba Masaki’s gravure shots, trinkets and various fanmade plushies that he ordered online under the webname “MasakiRabuRabu.” Now did that make him feel like a complete creep? Hell, he sometimes wondered how the sane part of him could ever allow such perverted thoughts to wander within fifty feet of Aiba.   
  
“Nino?” Aiba had pulled up a chair beside him and sat down, still teasing. “Why aren’t you answering? Don’t tell me it really  _is_  about me!”  
  
Shaking himself back to the present, Nino shut his laptop with a snap and smiled cheekily in the face of his most unforgivable sexual fantasy.   
  
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you cocky bastard?”   
  
They both laughed, but deep down, Nino’s heart twisted with a little bite of disappointment.  
  
Because if Aiba had paid even just a fraction of the attention Nino did on their magazine features, he’d already know beyond doubt who the stupid song was about, and Nino wouldn’t be feeling tempted to pull his hair in frustration every time he asked this painfully _obvious_  question.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
No one could decide what to do with that cumbersome banner that Nino just  _had_  to lug back with him from Hawaii. Jun had grumbled about shipping costs. Ohno was eyeing it like he was wondering if it would make a good tarp for a boat that he didn’t (yet) own. And Sho looked like he was trying very hard to think of a polite way to say “Chuck it in the dumpster.”  
  
So helplessly, Nino looked to Aiba.   
  
“Well, Aiba-san?” He lifted a corner of the offending white object invitingly. “Would you like to take this home with you? It’s a charming pattern for wall paper, you know…”  
  
“It’s a  _conceited_  pattern, that’s for sure.” Aiba laughed, but took the proffered corner anyway. “Don’t you all think so? It’d be pretty conceited for one of us to have our own banner plastered over our walls at home. You’d wake up in the morning and the first thing you’ll see is your own logo. That’s sort of egotistical.” He laughed again, and began rolling the banner up around one arm. “I can’t refuse a gift from Nino, though. These things are to be treasured.”   
  
Nino hit him heartily on the head. “Stop speaking as if I’m some sort of cheapskate who never gives you gifts, you ass!”  
  
The other three members all burst into laughter, but Aiba just turned around to tug at Nino’s arm.   
  
“I’m not,” he said meaningfully, looking straight into Nino’s eyes. “I  _know_  Nino’s given me many gifts. I’m just saying I treasure every last one of them…”  
  
For a moment there, all the other members fell silent and Nino could have sworn that the world itself had halted to a screeching stop and hurtled him headlong into those murky pools of dreamy dark chocolate that, upon a rather distant-seeming time, had been Aiba’s eyes.   
  
_Why was it always so easy to get sucked into those eyes?_ He blinked powerlessly.  
  
Then Aiba grinned, and the skin around his temples folded warmly into a series of friendly crows’ feet as he leaned in to grab Nino’s chin.  
  
“Including this one right here,” he said, squeezing Nino’s jaw like it was a cute blob of putty. “This one’s the best gift of them all.”  
  
Nino could hear Jun snickering behind him, and what sounded like a stifled guffaw from Sho. Then, Leader’s perfectly coiffed head popped up from the side and gave Aiba a subtle, permissive nod.   
  
The next thing Nino knew, it was Hawaii 2002 all over again, with him backed up against the muscular chest of their rapper and MatsuJun’s sadistic hands pinning his arms behind his back in a deadlock. Ohno’s eyes peered down at his struggling face from over Aiba’s shoulder, and Aiba himself—his assailant, his best friend, and the forbidden crush of his life—Aiba himself was pinching his face with a freakishly strong hand and bringing it up to meet the world’s most sensual lips in a lightning-quick (but not entirely innocent) kiss.   
  
Nino had always prided himself on his collected wit, but the moment Aiba broke away and the giggles of his bandmates filled the space around them, all coolness vanished and he found himself making a mad dash for the door, Sho’s clapping cackles still echoing through his burning ears.   
  
_Kiss number 5 for Masaki and Kazunari_. The calendar book would be missing another page that night.   
  
But as Nino tucked the piece of paper into the special box that held all four of its predecessors (as well as several embarrassingly mushy drafts of his new solo), it struck him quite harshly that five kisses in eighteen years wasn’t exactly what could be called  _progress_.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Progress?  
  
December 24, 2014 was just as bright and artificial and disgustingly romantic as it had been eighteen years ago, when Christmas had lost all meaning to Ninomiya Kazunari. Which was not a lamentable thing at all, really, because since then, Christmas had become the only holiday during which the wishful fantasy that he could be  _dating_  (as in romancing and being romanced by) the most gorgeous and perfect and idiotic of his bandmates could be realistically played out. Christmas was  _the_  season of golden excuses to ask for midnight walks by the lights, and for standing (just the two of them) among streetfuls of handholding couples and watching the long limbs shiver and ripple beneath layers of cashmere and wool… Nino would wrap his Aiba in scarves and hats (perhaps even a few bells here and there, because it was fun to hear him jingle) and it’d be cute, but never suspicious, because it was his  _birthday_. He’d also invite him to his home, where warm blankets could be shared by the Wii and their screen characters could pummel the guts out of all sorts of aliens while their actual bodies snuggled closer and closer on the couch.  
  
Yes, Nino smiled secretly as he looked around himself. Dec 24 was definitely his favorite day of the year, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Santa Claus.   
  
“Hey, Nino!”   
  
He looked up and broke into a smile at the sight of what he had been waiting for: Aiba Masaki bobbing up towards him on the street. The guy was more ridiculously-dressed than usual, wearing a dark blue blazer with a burgundy bow tie nestled under his chin and a cartoon devil plushie fastened around his arm like some sort of luminescent safety signal.   
  
“Happy birthday,” Nino greeted him. “You busy tonight? I was thinking maybe we could do the usual, you know. Grab some beer and level up our avatars. Prank call MatsuJun and tell him Eita’s finally agreed to a threesome.” He grinned deviously and dangled an untraceable pre-paid phone in his companion’s face invitingly.  
  
“Sorry.” Aiba looked apologetic as he gently waved it aside. “I already told Toma I’d drop by the Debikuro party tonight.” He gave Nino’s arm a light pat. “We should definitely hang out some other time, though.”   
  
“Oh.” Nino quickly stuffed the phone back into his bag, a slight sense of betrayal washing over him, even though he knew he should have seen this coming. Wasn’t it just a month ago that he almost beat the entire Dragon Age Inquisition in one sitting simply because everything else on the internet was swarming with clips of Aiba saying a very public ‘I love you’ to his very male and _very_  handsome co-star?  
  
“I’m really sorry,” said Aiba again, and Nino knew he meant it, but that didn’t stop him from inwardly cursing Ikuta Toma’s name.   
  
Out loud, though, he gave a dismissive shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably better if we wait for the game cheats to come out anyways.”  
  
Aiba nodded silently, and then looked at his watch.  
  
“So are you heading home now?” he asked.  
  
“I guess so.” Nino was itching to shut himself in the safe walls of his room so he could slice through half a hundred or so enemy monsters on his DS in as violent a way as possible. “With you out of commission, there’s not exactly much left for me to celebrate tonight, now is there?”  
  
He forced a teasing grin, the kind he was so used to giving on TV, and turned around, one hand already fishing for the car keys in his bag.  
  
But then Aiba said something.   
  
“So it  _is_  about me.”  
  
“What?” Nino replied absently, still looking for his keys, but Aiba was staring at him, mouth agape and eyes shining like he had just fallen into a fairy tale world where trees grew gold and snow fell hot.   
  
“The song.  _Your_  song. Your fake-Christmas solo song that’s actually supposed to be a tooth-rotting love song which you’ve always wanted to sing but couldn’t because you’re too scared I’d figure it out so you went ahead and spent years composing angsty ballads just to throw me off but somehow you’ve finally grown a backbone and tossed me a piece of your heart and for the past three months you’ve just been waiting nervously for me to sniff at it and taste it on the off chance that I’ll wag my tail and bark for more and more of it, only I’m too dunderheaded to read between the lines about all these Santas and cakes and strawberry garnishes and I didn’t figure it out til now.”  
  
He stopped, huffing rather heavily to regain his breath.   
  
And Nino stopped, too. It was as though there’d just been a mini-landslide under his feet and the world had just jerked him into a wholly different dimension. Now  _he_  was the one gaping at Aiba’s face, pale under the icicle lights, with just a hint of crow’s feet blooming out the edge of his pretty eyes but otherwise looking remarkably like the boy eighteen years ago, the one who had stuck his hand into a scary-looking tree hole and then gotten all embarrassed because Nino had accused him of stealing from a  _squirrel_.   
  
“I wasn’t expecting you to figure it out,” he said, after a bit of a pause.  
  
“Well, I did anyway.” Aiba stepped close, not close enough to be kissable, but just the right distance to make it feel much, much closer. “I guess that changes things, huh.”  
  
Nino shifted his feet and tried not to drown in the fuzzy halo that was now blending Christmas lights with Aiba’s face.   
  
“Yes,” he agreed. His throat was constricting, but somehow his voice still came out okay.  
  
He held out a hand.   
  
“I’m going to have to steal you from your party tonight, Aiba, no wait,  _Masaki_.”  
  
Aiba pounced on it like a spring and fastened himself around Nino in an instant.   
  
Nino’s heart soared like loose kite.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They went to Nino’s apartment, which was messy and furnished mostly with furniture related to gaming. Nino closed his door behind them, and Aiba didn’t beat around the bush.   
  
“You’ve never kissed me,” he told Nino, a little accusingly. “If you'd just kissed me even once, I would have realized it sooner. But you never kissed me.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Nino pointed out. “As a matter of fact, we’ve kissed five times. I can show you the exact dates.”  
  
Aiba seemed very amused. “ _I_  kissed  _you_ five times. And I already know the exact dates, thank you. But  _you_ never kissed  _me_.”  
  
Mentally, Nino ransacked 18 years’ worth of memories, and was astounded to find that Aiba was right. There was a light  _click_  in his brain, and then he moved towards his stolen guest like a cat on the prowl.   
  
“Well, why didn’t you ever say that you wanted me to?” he growled, feeling somewhat annoyed, though he couldn’t say if it was at Aiba or at himself.  
  
Aiba tilted his head coyly and looked at Nino with his sinfully velveteen eyes. He didn't speak with his lips.  
  
Nino rolled his eyes, though his fingers were already lifting Aiba’s hands and spreading them gently against the wall behind him. With a soft thud, Aiba’s elbows followed, then his shoulder blades, and then his inhumanly pert little butt, all pressed lightly against the wall behind him.   
  
Nino ran his eyes across the face before him, stopping to fixate on an obtrusively beautiful mole in the middle of one cheek.  _Well_ , he thought giddily,  _this is as good a place as any to start a kiss, right?_  
  
He puckered his lips and leaned forward, pinning Aiba into the wall even more. Disconcertingly enough, Aiba didn’t seem to be nervous at all. In fact, he was giggling.  
  
“Nino’s too cute to pull off a kabe-don,” he tittered, but was then almost immediately cut off by a suddenly rough set of lips hungrily trying to devour every inch of his face.   
  
When it was over, and Aiba’s face, neck and ears were all suitably marked with signs of having been devoured, Nino stepped back and began retracing every lick and suckle with his appraising eyes.   
  
“So,” said Aiba, touching his bruised lips with a still-trembling finger. “Does this mean you’re actually a  _seme_?”  
  
“Idiot.” Nino flicked the nose in front of him, which was still a bit pink from all the kissing.   
  
He was not going to dignify that with an answer.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~      
  
Epilogue: the next morning  
  
The next morning, he woke up with the unique essence of Aiba lingering around his pillow, the other side of his bed a complete mess, with Aiba’s sky-blue boxers (or wait, were those actually Nino’s?) haphazardly strewn across the sheet.   
  
Groggily, Nino sat up and rubbed his eyes. A toasty scent of ham and cheese wafted its way into his nostrils, and upon finally reorienting himself to consciousness, he discovered that his bedroom door was also open and through it he could hear the sound of something bubbling on his seldom-used stovetop.   
  
He was about to head into his bathroom to brush his teeth when a thin, high-pitched giggle also made its way into his love-bitten ears. It was followed by a steady mumble of familiar syllables tripping over each other in a way that made Nino’s breath freeze in his throat.   
  
Aiba was reading something. Something that sounded remarkably like Aiba’s own words.  
  
“ _‘The bathhouse we went to together was really fun,_ ’” Aiba’s voice was reading. “ _‘We splashed water on the tiles and then slid around naked…’_ ”  
  
The voice dissolved into another peal of giggles as Aiba flipped the page. “Ahahaha! Those were the times, ne! The first time I saw Nino’s little tinkie was at that bathhouse… hehehe!”  
  
Nino was so mortified he dashed out into the dining room in nothing but his (lightly) soiled boxers and a pair of fuzzy slippers.   
  
“Aiba!!” He snatched the little folder full of magazine clippings from his bandmate’s hands and snapped it shut. “Who said you could go prying into my stuff?”  
  
Aiba only reached for another folder unrepentantly. “Oh, I didn’t have to do much  _prying_ to find these. They were practically spilling out of your closets!” He grinned deviously as he opened it. “I mean, jeez Nino, where do you keep your clothes?”  
  
Nino tried to snatch that one out of his hands too, but only succeeded in scattering a whole years’ worth of sizzling Aiba gravures (many of which he had visibly, erm,  _done_  stuff to) across the table and floor.   
  
Aiba’s pretty doe eyes widened, and he stared from the suspicious white crusting on one  _MGirl_  photo to his new lover’s horrified face and then back again _, understanding_.   
  
“You—um—wow, I had no idea—I mean, man, if I knew I turned you on that much, I’d—”  
  
“Oh shut up,” said Nino, recovering his snark (though his ears still burned red). “I’m still waiting for  _An An_ to call your manager about a sex issue…”  
  
Aiba flushed, and flung a towel at him.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
AND THEN THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.   
THE END. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Some magazine quotes are from here: http://fuckyeahaimiya.tumblr.com/1998 A lot of the elements of this story are inspired by the contents of this tumblr account, so I encourage you all to check it out!  
> *The part about Arashi talking about schoolyard bullying on News Zero is based on the News Zero episode aired 2006.12.11, where a victim of bullying sent in a letter to thank Arashi for giving her the strength to live on through their songs and uplifting lyrics. Nino then talks briefly about his experience with bullies, and you can tell that it was a very unpleasant topic for him. Here's a summary of it: http://lovesituationamnos.blogspot.com/2014/12/arashi-on-bullying-news-zero-20061211.html  
> * http://say-it-again.livejournal.com/45069.html also has some lovely Aimiya tidbits, and I drew some inspiration from here as well.


End file.
